She snorts out a laugh. “He’s built like a man who works with his hands, has a sense of humor drier than the Sahara, and the thing that gets him off more than anything in the world is giving you orgasms. What a nightmare.”

My voice of reason is always Lola. “You’re a jackass.”

“You only say that when I’m being your voice of reason.”

“Out of my head, witch. And don’t piss me off,” I tell her. “I’ll buy you underwear one size too small for Christmas and make you hate life.”

“Come to think of it,” Oliver cuts in, walking around the cashwrap and leaning back against it to face us, “you aren’t really Finn’s type, so it’s probably for the best that you guys stopped messing around.”

“What?” I say, dropping my nonchalance to the side in favor of knee-jerk offense. “Why?”

“Well, you’re a bit of an unnecessary ballbuster.” I open my mouth but Lola elbows me again, sharper this time. “Plus, Finn doesn’t just mess around, as I’ve mentioned. I only met one of his ex-girlfriends, Melody, and—”

“Sorry,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “Melody?”

He raises his eyebrows as if I’m proving one of his points and I bite my lips to keep from saying anything else.

“They were together for a few years before and just after Bike and Build. She was nice, just really quiet...” He tilts his head and winces, nonverbally suggesting maybe I’m not so quiet.

“But they aren’t together anymore,” I remind him.

“Nope.”

“So maybe he doesn’t like quiet. Maybe he likes chatty half-Irish, half-Spanish feisty gingers who call him on his bossy shit.”

“Well, I thought it didn’t matter anyway,” Oliver says with a little smile.

REGAL BEAGLE TONIGHT, I text Finn once I’m home. Lola, Oliver, me, Not-Joe. You coming?

I stare at my phone for at least a minute, waiting for him to reply, but nothing. Ordinarily, Finn strikes me as the kind of guy who will forget he even has a phone until he empties his pockets at the end of the day, but lately he’s been checking it nearly constantly, so I expect him to reply quickly.

But an hour later, he still hasn’t.

I text, How did it go? I can’t wait to hear about it.

Still no reply. Maybe he’s driving. Maybe the meeting went long. Maybe he’s sitting at a huge desk, signing contracts.

Lola and Oliver pick me up in his beater Nissan and I stare at the back of their heads as they jabber on and on about his store, her upcoming book launch, one of their favorite comics. How can they not see they’re perfect together?